Photos by The Style Crone
The Style Crone discovered this ceramic sculpture at an antique market about a month ago, and was immediately drawn to its power. She is now in my living room with her strength, pride and what I perceive as an open wound. She has no arms. I project upon her my feelings, for loss at times feels like an amputation. Not visible, but internal. The bleeding, the phantom pain, the unpredictable nature of healing. The learning curve ahead appears as high as a snow covered Colorado mountaintop; I have never sought to climb such a peak. The steep, stark, rocky path ahead unfolds before me as I begin the ascent, hoping that the tumultuous wind does not toss me into the rugged terrain below. Feeling vulnerable and exposed I step forward in unfamiliar territory. Somewhere within I have the realization and the hope that I will find my way in the wilderness of grief and slowly gain footing, even though I may lose my way or stumble, even tremble, along this unknown passage. For to move too fast with the healing of an amputation is likely to cause further injury. Doesn’t tissue heal one cell at a time?